


Promises to Keep

by NervousAsexual



Series: Whumptober 2019 But It's Not 2019 Anymore [3]
Category: Thief (Video Game Original Series), Thief (Video Games)
Genre: Broken Promises, Deadly Shadows, Seizures, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26860228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/pseuds/NervousAsexual
Summary: That Garrett chose to extend his trust to him meant everything. The only thanks Artemus could offer was to break that trust.
Relationships: Artemus & Garrett (Thief Video Games)
Series: Whumptober 2019 But It's Not 2019 Anymore [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903825
Kudos: 9
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Promises to Keep

**Author's Note:**

> prompt from Whumptober day 1--waking up restrained

Garrett arrived earlier than expected, slipping into the Terces Courtyard through the east entrance. Without a backwards glance he walked directly to Artemus.

And Artemus saw what was happening.

They met in the center of the courtyard and Artemus put an arm around Garrett's shoulders, steering him forward without a break in pace. The library, he thought, but Garrett's strained breathing and sweat-soaked body told him that they wouldn't make it in time. Instead he went to the garden, the flower-filled space surrounding the statuary, and helped Garrett step over the low fence. He helped him to lie flat on the ground, then stripped off his outer cloak, folded it into a bundle, and slipped it under Garrett's head.

"Sorry," the thief managed to grit out, before his head jerked sharply to one side.

Artemus nodded, once only, but Garrett's body went rigid with a small barking cry. The keeper took a quick glance around the square--if the city watch was about he would be forced to muffle any further sound--but the place was still deserted.

Beneath him Garrett's head jerked, and the rest of his body collapsed into an endless series of violent twitches. He groaned like a man dying. One arm jerked enough to send the back of his hand slamming into the base of the statue, and Artemus winced at his own lack of foresight. He took the hand in his and held it loosely but firmly as Garrett seized.

Eventually the shaking gave way to trembling and finally to stillness. Garrett's breathing was painfully labored, like that of a drowning man, but it still came. Artemus checked again for guards and saw a shadow approaching from the southern alley, and from the footsteps he knew it was city watch.

"I am sorry about this," he whispered to Garrett, and as the guard entered to take a look around he muffled the sound of Garrett's breathing with the sleeve of his robe.

For a moment he stirred, trying to sit up, but Artemus held him lightly to the ground. It seemed as if he were going to struggle. In the end, however, he was too weak post-seizure and sank back into the long decorative grass, barely able to keep his eyes open.

The guard entered the courtyard. His footsteps sounded purposeful, and Artemus pressed himself and Garrett down flat into the grass. It would not be hard for either of them to hide themselves from this man, but in his postictal state Garrett couldn't hide himself and Artemus would not, could not, let the guard find him.

The footsteps grew nearer. Garrett's breathing grew harder against the cloth at his face. Artemus raised his head enough to look at him, but Garrett's eyes swept over the sky above him. His entire existence seemed to be wrapped around the act of drawing breath.

"You supposed to be here?" the guard asked. Artemus tensed. He didn't dare look up.

"I'm a little lost," a voice returned. "Trying to find my way back to South Quarter."

"Just the other side of these buildings. Give me a minute, my patrol runs right up to the gate."

"Oh, thank the builder." Footsteps crossed the square. "I figured I'd starve to death out here or something."

The footsteps--guard and civilian both--moved to the south exit and faded away.

When Artemus got himself upright he saw Garrett's eyes had gone glassy. He fumbled with the sleeves of his robe, pushed them up far enough to press his fingers into the pulse point at the base of Garrett's neck. His heart was racing--some small comfort.

"I can't carry you," Artemus told him. "I am sorry, but not this time." Too much time had passed; even with his keeper training Artemus was no longer strong enough. "I don't want to leave you here but if you are unable to walk I don't have a choice. If you are willing I will send one of the novices to bring you to the keeper library." He chewed at his lip. "You have both artifacts?"

But of course there was no response. If Garrett was still conscious by some technical definition he was incapable of understanding. Artemus reluctantly set about opening the bag Garrett carried at his side. Looking proved unnecessary. St. Edgar's Cross was easy enough to identify by touch, and the Jacknall's Paw gave off such an overwhelming impression of the maw that its unusual shape didn't matter. He'd hardly expected anything less. What he said to Garrett two nights before was the truth; he had, as he always had, complete faith in Garrett's abilities.

"Can you stand with support?" Artemus expected no answer but liked to imagine this one-sided dialogue was comforting to some degree, even if Garrett couldn't understand him. "Try." He hoisted Garrett's body to sit upright, tried to pull him up to his feet, but despite his groaning knees and back the weight was just too dead. They would never reach the door glyph without being seen. As he eased him back down onto the bundled cloak Garrett made a noise, a moan, a groan, something unconscious. "I'm sorry, Garrett. Be still and I will send someone quickly."

It took a long moment to shift him onto his side, carefully arranging his limbs to keep him there. He took the thief's bag and checked for guards. There were none in sight. He slipped off through the southern entrance, leaving Garrett struggling to breathe in the empty courtyard.

* * *

He next saw Garrett in the arms of a library guard, eyes still open but unseeing. Artemus directed the guard to lay him down on a bed in the junior scribes' dormitory, one in the farthest corner, where the light from the window barely reached. Undoubtedly this would displace some unfortunate scribe, but one bed was very like another and this would be a quiet, dark place to rest.

Momentarily he entertained the idea of letting Garrett rest in his own room. The thought made him chuckle. It was a good idea, presuming he didn't mind Garrett rifling through his notes and belongings.

Orland was, predictably enough, furious.

"Isn't he living in South Quarter?" he demanded. "Why would you bring him here?"

"We agreed that he would be allowed to hear the prophecies. He'll be more immediately available."

"How is it so hard for you to understand? He's not one of us."

"That is true. He's also an extremely valuable resource. Is he one that you're prepared to lose?"

He was not. Even with Orland's convictions about the Brethren and Betrayer Garrett was not worth losing to illness, misadventure, or distrust. A guard was posted in the dormitory and Artemus left the thief sleeping heavily under his watch.

"He is your responsibility," Orland said. "When things go missing, it will be on your shoulders." And yet precautions were taken--when he returned with a vial from the keepers' alchemy stores Garrett's wrists were tied to the bedposts. His right hand, the one he had struck on the statue, was bruised and swollen.

Small wonder why Garrett's distrust had only grown over the years.

* * *

As he returned to himself Garrett stirred a little at a time. He tugged unconsciously at the ropes binding his wrists, eyes flickering open but unseeing. He tried to raise his head but too much movement seemed to pain him--he shuddered against the bed and turned his face from the light--and when Artemus tried to coax him to swallow the anticonvulsant potion it only dribbled from his mouth, dampening the mattress beneath him.

The last pieces to fall into place came in the dead of night. The dormitory was still but for the soft sounds of sleeping novices, so still Artemus imagined he could hear the sound of the single candle burning in its lantern across the room, and the soft, unguarded whimper that slipped from Garrett's throat seemed deafening.

"You are in the keeper library," Artemus whispered in his ear. "You are safe. The bindings will come off in the morning, when First Keeper Orland is ready to see you."

For a moment Garrett did not respond. He tried to turn to face the wall, evidently forgetting his restraints. "Let go of me," he mumbled at last.

"I'm not holding you. The bindings will come off in the morning. I am not touching you, and I won't, not without your permission."

"Let go," Garrett repeated. He pulled at his right wrist, still sensitive and bruised. "Let go of me."

"Hush. Don't wake the others." A pointless gesture. Artemus looked out across the dormitory; the air felt more still than before, the sort of stillness that could only come from a half-dozen junior scribes erasing their presence. "You are safe."

Garrett groaned softly, pressing the side of his face into the mattress. His breathing grew quicker as the seconds passed. Artemus thought of the scars on his wrists, wounds he acquired the last time he allowed someone to restrain him, and knew that nothing he said would calm him and that touch would only make it worse.

This was a mistake. This was the lesson Orland wanted them both to learn. He should have had Garrett taken to the South Quarter.

"Only a few more hours. I know you are capable of holding out that long."

It was not a lie. Garrett had been through worse. He'd witnessed Garrett going through worse. But despite it all the thief still had his pride.

It was an all-too-familiar scene. Some nights Artemus dreamed of the trickster's mansion, the thick, razor-sharp, thorny brambles that dug into Garrett's flesh, the blood and gore that ran down his face as he struggled to keep himself conscious. Now, as then, Artemus harbored a foolish desire to help. Now, as then, he knew that what must be done would only make Garrett hate him more.

It only took a few seconds of pressure on the nerve roots at the base of the thief's neck to bring him under again and Garrett fought it every step of the way. A few seconds and a broken promise--but surely he'd expected nothing less.


End file.
